Camelot & Vine Read Online Free Page A

staying...” he glanced at my card as he handed it
back, “...Ms. Clemens?”
    “Uh, a week?”
    “Lovely.” His smile was genuine, his teeth
naturally white. He extended his hand to shake. “I’m Ajay.”
    “I’m Casey.”
    “A pleasure. The loo’s one flight up. Your
room’s at the top of the second staircase.” He lifted a small,
old-fashioned brass key from a peg on the wall and gave it to me.
“Bags?”
    “Just these.” I held up my shopping
bags.
    “Oh.” His voice registered slight surprise,
but he didn’t pursue it.
     
    -----
     
    Outside my dormer window, the last of the
sun still gilded the rooftops. The peanuts I’d eaten on the plane
were long gone and I regretted skipping the pasta. Food would have
to come before sleep, even before a shower.
    After more than twenty-four hours of stress,
my long-sleeved T-shirt was no longer white. I pulled the chain
mail sweater on over it and changed into my new cargo pants. Sick
of carrying my lime green albatross, I dumped its contents onto the
yellow coverlet of the single bed.
    Lipstick, makeup, note pad, sunglasses, the
tissues the flight attendant had given me, a purse-sized container
of Vaseline, a plastic sample jar of ibuprofen and that grainy,
linty stuff that ends up at the bottoms of purses. Business cards
with my picture on them. Post cards with my picture on them: dyed
blonde hair, makeup and cheesy grin. I turned all the pictures face
down and dug through the pile for my wallet. Beneath the mess my
fingers found a plastic flashlight keychain with the Gone! lightning logo stamped on it in bright red. The keychain was a
giveaway premium, a trinket, a piece of junk forgotten in the
bowels of my purse. I clicked the end and the flashlight shone in
my eyes. Like a pinch, it served as a reminder of my misery. I
threw it into the tin trash can next to the little wooden desk by
the window.
    I considered taking my iPod but decided
against it. I never used the thing for listening to music and
nobody was going to bug me. Passport, credit cards and cash went
into the fanny pack/bum bag (both misnomers for a small, black,
canvas pack I wore belted around my belly, for easy access). I
zipped it closed, clipped it around my waist and reached for the
glass doorknob.
    At the last second I remembered the brass
room key by the lamp on the nightstand. The key was small, easy to
lose. The Gone! keychain would have to do. I had earned that
stupid keychain. I retrieved it from the trash, attached it to the
key and tucked it into the hidden Velcro pocket of my new
pants.
    Later, I regretted not bringing the
tissues.
     
     

 
     
    FOUR
     
    Ajay appeared at the bottom of the stairs
with a steaming cup of tea.
    I felt my face relax into a smile. I must
have been frowning for hours. “That’s so nice of you.”
    “I wasn’t sure you’d be coming down. You do
seem tired.”
    “The cab driver suggested I stay up 'til
ten. I don’t know what time it is.”
    “It’s just coming on eight. Come sit for a
second.”
    I followed him into the dining room, where
he placed the china cup and saucer on the table before me. “It’s
still so light out.”
    “Northern latitude. You get used to it.”
    My hands shook when I raised the cup. The
tea was hot but not too; I drank it down and returned the cup to
its saucer. “I guess I should head out.”
    “Fancy a taste of our night life, do
you?”
    “I’m pretty hungry.”
    “There’s just the one pub. Tom’ll fix you
something.”
    “Can you give me directions?”
    He laughed softly. “You’re in Small Common,
dearie. It’s small .” He leaned forward in his chair. “Ms.
Clemens, are you all right?”
    The polite concern in his bright eyes
reminded me of the flight attendant. Strangers could be so kind.
People in my own life—people I’d slept with, even—hadn’t shown me
as much consideration. I had a knack for gathering the ungenerous
into my inner circle. Perhaps like attracts like.
    “It’s only jet